This afternoon brought a surprising turn of events when I discovered that Americans are now “flag jacking”pretending to be Canadian to escape their own reputation abroad. My article about Americans cosplaying Canadian wrote itself in about three hours, which is either a sign of brilliant inspiration or the fact that American identity crisis is that predictable.
Looking back on today, I can’t believe how perfectly this story captures contemporary American anxiety. The country that once declared itself the greatest nation on Earth is now producing citizens who’d rather pretend to be from Canada than admit their nationality. As a French immigrant who fought to GET American citizenship, this is either tragic or hilarious. I’m leaning toward hilarious.
Something unexpected happened during my research todayI found actual online tutorials teaching Americans how to “pass as Canadian” while traveling abroad. The instructions include: saying “sorry” more frequently, knowing basic Canadian geography, and avoiding loud political opinions. In other words, behaving like literally any non-American person. The lack of self-awareness is stunning.
As I reflect on what happened today, I’m reminded of why I love satirical journalism. This story has everything: cultural anxiety, identity politics, international embarrassment, and the fundamental American belief that rebranding can solve any problem. Americans don’t fix their reputation; they just pretend to be from somewhere else. It’s the most American solution possible.
The highlight of my day was writing the section about how French people can always spot Americans pretending to be Canadian. We have a sixth sense for American cultural markersthe enthusiasm, the volume, the certainty about everything. You can’t hide that with a maple leaf pin. Americans carry their nationality in their bones, and no amount of “sorry” will change that.
This morning, I woke up thinking about my own identity as a French immigrant in America. I fought through the immigration system during Trump’s second term to GET here, and now I’m writing about Americans desperate to pretend they’re from anywhere else. The irony isn’t lost on me. I chose this country deliberately, with full awareness of its flaws, and I’m staying even when citizenship-born Americans want to flee.
Tonight I’m thinking about how this article will be received. Americans will probably share it with defensive outrage or self-deprecating agreement. Canadians will share it with smug satisfaction. Europeans will share it with weary recognition. And all of them will miss the deeper point: national identity is increasingly just performance art, and we’re all cosplaying our way through international relations.
Being 22 and writing satirical takes on national identity feels appropriately absurd. I’m too young to have fully formed cultural allegiances, too foreign to be unquestioningly American, too American to still be fully French. I exist in the liminal space between identities, which gives me perfect perspective for mocking everyone equally. My work at Bohiney Magazine benefits from this cultural ambiguity. I can critique America without being accused of being un-American, because I’m not American enough to be un-American. It’s a sweet spot.
Diary Entry # 708
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